Sage of Frost
by masamune11
Summary: Some nights, he wondered if it was a mistake to give Dégel his demi-godly blood. But he shook the thought aside quickly as he remembered that Dégel had companions who would help him. Krest would never have him trade such valuable life-experience for anything. [Part of "We Will Never Walk This Path Alone" Series. 'Medical Condition Swap!AU. Character's Death Warning.]


Sometimes Krest would look at them and thought that they were blood-brothers.

Such notion was preposterous, of course. One shouldn't have to look closer to notice that there were no similar traits between them. Kardia had a pair of blue eyes with determined gaze, while Dégel had green eyes that screamed restraints over his resolution. One had green hair, the other blue. One had intelligence maturing beyond his age, though his attitude still lacked finesse, while the other showed outstanding capacity in physical activities and melee combat. One was born in the heart of Maine, knowing no such thing as hardships, while the other was bred in an unkind environment where _he needed to kill to survive_.

 _One was sickly, the other healthy._

While they were never brothers by blood, but Krest had lived long enough to know that such closeness—a brotherly bond so close that it rivalled blood-related one—existed, that blood did not necessarily defined the path of two people, that the most unfortunate situation nurtured not just heartache but also companionship and _wisdom_ : a sense protectiveness that would serve anybody well in this path called _life_. He had seen this in the eyes of his saint brethren and sistren when they went to war against the so-called _war god_ to defend their goddess.

He remembered the strength that moved him, and it was never from _his goddess_. Athena might have rallied them with cheers of peace, but Krest' will moved only for the sake of his fellow saints. He prayed that both of his apprentices would eventually understand that concept—the final lesson which they needed to understand in order for them to become a proper saint of Athena in his eyes.

Krest looked at both of them practising, ice and fire clashing against each other.

 _No, they were never blood-brothers._

* * *

When he decided to assist Garnet to fulfil her fondest dream—a wish of a dead man—he did it with his belief that _he was doing this for Athena._ Never in his life had he ever deviated from his life objective: to preserve peace in the land and keep the daily lives of people in order. As long as both objectives were met, he would not be dissuaded to change his approach, even if said approach demanded _blood_.

Of course, he did not conclude so within a day; there were unspeakable things that he had witnessed upon innocent people, deeds which he spared Kardia's life from when he decided to save that boy, and lives that had easily perished under tyrannical rulers. Sometimes he wondered if Athena knew these _deeds,_ that she, with heavy heart, that had been defending those unworthy lives when she fought against tyrannical gods trying to dominate earth.

He closed his eyes, wishing that the blood she left within him would whisper her answer. But he heard Garnet instead, and she looked at him with understanding as she gracefully told him, " _let us ask your successor to tell us, as a Saint, whether our way is just._ "

* * *

He never pegged his sickly apprentice as a passionate young man.

While he _did_ have the right motivation—the right _determination_ —to do what is right, with those invisible restraints that dictated his life always curbing the fire behind those green eyes. Krest understood that it was both a curse and blessing for the young man. He knew far too well that the _boy_ wanted to burn like his peer, to display his affection so openly without the fear of _crushing his surroundings if his power goes out of control_. In exchange of his emotional restraint, he gained the skill to suppress his power—to manipulate his icy cosmo with such precision that awed his peers. But no man nor woman in this world could deal with the stress of _restraining one's emotional need_ , not when said young man had a passion that rivalled his childhood friend.

(Some nights, he wondered if it was a mistake to give Dégel his demi-godly blood. Perhaps it was better to let him die peacefully in his bed. At least, Krest wouldn't drive him to a despairing and lonely fate.

But he shook the thought aside quickly as he remembered that _Dégel had companions who would help him._ Krest would never have him trade such valuable life-experience for anything.)

But the young man standing before him was more than the _restrained_ Aquarius Dégel.

There was a fire, burning warmly under those green eyes as he poured his cosmo unto his final attack—an answer that screamed at him to open his eyes, because the world _is constantly changing,_ and _his ideal was more likely to be obsolete in the face of that change_. This was the answer that his young apprentice had come up with; an answer that made him proud.

So he reached for him in his last moments of life, the Sage of Frost finally at the brink of his end as he approached Dégel—all worn-out, uncomfortable, sick, and _dying_ from his acute pneumonic relapse and yet _still standing_ —and slung both of his hands around his waist. Krest could feel his apprentice's form trembling, and he was sure that it is not from the lack of heat. He had no more time if he were to save the boy. At that moment, Krest chose to burn his life and calm the storm himself. Dégel gasped under his sudden pressure, and the old saint was glad that he made no movements.

(He was as good as dead, anyway. He believed Dégel knew; he was always the more perceptive one between the two—the one who could sense whose life would end just by reading one's cosmo. It was a good thing that the saint was too exhausted to do anything at all… so that he himself could do what needed to be done.)

"Remember Dégel," he whispered softly, his grip weakened. He could feel his ward moved to support his form, but Krest knew enough that _it would not change anything_. Dégel was strong enough to push him and lie him down on the floor, his green eyes showing desperation and silent rage, to which the old man only smiled.

It had been awhile since he saw those green eyes _glowed with emotion_.

"Remember your bonds… remember the people who drive you… remember."

—and all faded to silence.


End file.
